Heartless(13)

Lady Peter’s gaze flickered up and she whimpered before letting her head hang again. She looked moments away from being sick all over the astounding feast.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?” Catherine asked.

Lady Peter responded meekly, “Are you sure there aren’t any pumpkin pasties lying about? I think I might feel a bit better, if only…”

“See? No bother talking to her,” said Peter. “Dumb as a Jack-O’-Lantern she is.”

His wife tightened her arms around her waist.

Catherine’s anger burbled. For a moment she imagined him choking on one of those chocolate caramels, and how she and his wife would stand over him laughing, but her fantasy was interrupted by the Nine and Ten of Diamonds squeezing sideways in between them. “Do pardon me,” the Nine said, reaching for a honey-drizzled fig.

Cath gladly took a step back.

“These shindies always like this?” Peter asked, snarling at the courtier’s back.

The Ten turned to him with a jovial smile and held up a glass of wine as if in salute. “Not at all,” he said. “We used to keep standards.”

Cath blanched. The courtier was gone in an instant, leaving Peter with a flaming face and searing eyes. Cath forced a smile. “The courtiers can be a tad … uppity, sometimes. With strangers. I’m sure he meant no offense.”

“I’m sure he did,” said Peter, “and I’m sure he ain’t the only one.” He stared at her for a long moment, before raising his hand and tipping his tattered hat. “Been a pleasure, milady.”

It was the first sign of manners he’d shown, and it was about as believable as the Duke of Tuskany claiming he could fly.

Sir Peter grabbed his wife by the elbow and pulled her away. Cath wasn’t sad to see them go.





CHAPTER 6

CATHERINE ALLOWED HERSELF A HUFF. Sir Peter’s presence, combined with the strangling corset, had nearly suffocated her. “A right pleasure indeed.”

“He’s a sore thumb, isn’t he?”

She turned and spotted a silver tray floating in the air above the table, overflowing with golden-crusted hand pies, neatly crimped on one edge.

“Ah, hello again, Cheshire,” said Catherine, filled with relief that she might have one encounter this evening that didn’t leave her weary and vexed. Though with Cheshire, it could go either way. “Are you supposed to be here?”

“Not likely.”

The cat appeared with the tray resting on his tummy, his striped tail like a lounging chair beneath him. His head came last—ears, whiskers, nose, and finally his enormous toothy grin.

“You look absurd,” Cheshire drawled, taking a pastry between two sharp claws and popping it into his gigantic mouth. A cloud of savory steam erupted from between his teeth, smelling of sweet squash.

“The dress was my mother’s idea,” said Catherine. Placing a hand on her abdomen, she took in the largest breath she was capable of. She was beginning to feel light-headed. “Are those pumpkin pasties, by chance? Lady Peter was asking after them. They smell delicious.”

“They are. I would offer you one, but I don’t want to.”

“That’s not polite at all. And unless you have an invitation, you might want to put them down and disappear again before someone sees you.”

Cheshire grunted, unconcerned. “I just thought you might like to know…” He yawned exaggeratedly. “… that the Knave is stealing your tarts.”

“What?” Cath spun around, casting her glance around the feasting table, but Jack was nowhere in sight. She frowned.

When she turned back, Cheshire’s humongous cheeks were bulging with the entire tray’s worth of pasties.

Cath rolled her eyes and waited for him to chew and swallow, which he made quick work of with his enormous teeth.

Cheshire burped, then dug a nail into the space beside his front molar. “Oh, please,” he said, inspecting the nail and finding a bit of pumpkin filling stuck to it. “You don’t think those tarts would have lasted this far into the evening, do you?”

She spotted the familiar tray, then, near the edge of the feasting table. All that remained of her lemon tarts were a few crumbs, a drift of powdered sugar outlining three empty circles, and a smear of sunshine yellow.

It was as bittersweet as dark chocolate, that empty tray. Catherine was always pleased when her desserts were enjoyed, but, in this case, after the dream and the lemon tree … she would have liked to try at least a tiny bite for herself.

She sighed, disappointed.

“Did you try them, Cheshire?”

The cat tsked at her. “I had an entire tart, my dear. Irresistible as it was.”

Cath shook her head. “You would have made a better pig.”

“How vulgar.” He twisted in the air, rolling over like a log on the ocean, and vanished along with the now-empty dish.

“And what do you have against pigs?” Cath said to the empty space. “Baby piglets are almost as cute as kittens, if you ask me.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

She swiveled around again. The cat had reappeared on the other side of the table. Or, his head and one paw had, which he began to lick.

“Though I’m sure Lord Warthog would appreciate the sentiment,” he added.